


Hamish

by scathach1852



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3662139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scathach1852/pseuds/scathach1852
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a lot on his mind and seeing as he can't find the answers in his mind palace, he is forced to go elsewhere to find them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hamish

Sherlock appeared to be staring pensively out of the window, his brow creased in concentration. His hands flew through the air as if directing an invisible orchestra. He grew increasingly frustrated knowing the key to the puzzle was right in front of him and he could not figure it out. With each pass through his mind palace, he grew angrier. He eventually came to the conclusion that the solution would not be found without help from outside assistance.

Hard drugs were no longer an option even if he were so inclined. He knew both Mycroft and Lestrade had seen to that. His cigarette habit or lack thereof currently, had come back during his hiatus in London during the time he spent chasing down all the threads of Moriarty’s network and dismantling it piece by piece. His patch method of coping had been allowed for a short time but eventually curtailed through John’s insistence.

His eyes flew open as he remembered one of the few outlets left that was available to him. His hand creeped out slowly from his body as he concentrated on making sure that his plans would go according to plan. The nearly silent click on keys on his cell phone was the only sound to occupy the flat until an erotic moan pierced the silence in reply.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

John walked into the flat to see Sherlock slowly folding himself down onto the couch instead of his usual boneless and graceful flop. He raised an eyebrow in question at the quiet hiss of pain that escaped his flat-mate.

“What have you been up to now? Trying to gain the upper hand against another criminal? I thought you didn’t have an active case and even then, you usually wait for me. I didn’t miss any texts… did I?” John reached into his pocket, withdrew his cell phone and checked for messages.

Sherlock huffed a breath of annoyance and sighed in John’s general direction. “No, there were no texts. I just got into a bit of a scrape looking for evidence. Nothing you need to concern yourself with. Give me a couple days and I should be just fine. I should hope Lestrade and his minions can survive that long without botching up evidence.” He winced as he shifted and hoped that John wouldn’t notice the extent of his discomfort.

John realized Sherlock wouldn’t admit the extent of his injuries and decided to ignore the polite route of asking to take care of him. “I know if I say please it will get me nowhere. Sit down and let me take a look at your back. You could be falling to bits and you wouldn’t say a word otherwise. Remove your shirt while I go get my kit.”

Sherlock sat up straight as John left the room but refused to do more than remove his blue silk robe leaving him in his usual shirt and pajama pants. He knew John would be angry with him once he saw his back. His fingers played with the hem of the soft grey sleep shirt he wore. “You know this is unnecessary, right? I am merely bruised and don’t require more than a couple days of rest. It’s okay, John.”

“Sherlock... I have been your doctor since day one with the cabbie. I have patched you up countless times since then. Stop pretending you know better than me. I am serious, Sherlock.” 

“All right, you win.” With a resigned sigh, Sherlock lifted the shirt over his head and set it to his side laying in the arm of the sofa.

John inhaled deeply through his nose and held his breath as he took in the vertical and horizontal marks across the pale flesh of Sherlock’s back. “Scrape my arse, you fucking wanker! Those are whip marks… so, she isn’t dead is she?! You saw the woman again! I don’t know why she fascinates you so much… oh wait, it’s cause I’m stupid.”

Sherlock shrank into himself at John’s outburst and somehow managed to appear smaller. His hand reached out subconsciously towards his flat-mate.

“It’s not what you think…”

“Oh really?! Tell me what I’m thinking then. Deduce it!” John’s voice was quiet with rage, venom dripping from every syllable of his last sentence. His body was stock still and yet appeared to vibrate in an attempt to control the anger seeping from almost every pore.

“You are hurt that I lied to you regarding the truth of what actually happened to the woman in the first place. You are angry because I am physically injured. And you are jealous because you would have done the same for me if I had asked it of you.” After his deduction poured out in a torrent, Sherlock appeared to have deflated.

A heavy silence hung in the room. The drip of the leaky faucet hitting a pan in the sink all the way across from within the kitchen broke the silence.

“I did it for you; I couldn’t figure out my feelings. I wasn’t supposed to have them and nothing was working. My mind palace wouldn’t or couldn’t supply answers and I couldn’t turn to the cocaine, the cigarettes, or the patches. I couldn’t clear my mind and the woman was one of the only things I could think of that might work. I found the clarity I needed… unfortunately; it seems the solution came at too high a cost. I never meant to hurt you; you were first and foremost in my mind.”

With a dejected sigh, Sherlock flopped back onto the couch heedless of the pain. His eyes fell closed, not wanting to see John’s disappointment written within his eyes.   _What did it matter now?_

John made a general noise of agreement to all of what was said. “You giant berk; I’ve been here all along – waiting for you. I couldn’t give anymore after you left me alone that day. Mary healed me and then left me; both of you left me alone. And I’ve been here – waiting and hoping, never expecting you would actually pull your head out of your goddamn arse and realize I had been there all along since day one.”

At John’s words, Sherlock flew into a seated position, scarcely believing what he heard. Could he really be so lucky? “John, it really was all about you. My safe word was Hamish; I never used it. I couldn’t bear to have her know that it was always you.  I love you…”

“I must be crazy to fall in love with you, Sherlock. And I’m the one who invaded Afghanistan. Now, lay down on your stomach so I can take care of those whip marks. And don’t you dare ever lie to me again. I will walk right out this door and not come back. Do you understand?”

Sherlock nodded against the cushions and let out a sigh of relief heavily laced with pain as he felt John’s fingers cleaning and bandaging up his back _. It’s always you, John Hamish Watson. You keep me right…_

 

 


End file.
